


How To Woo A Flailing Freshman

by profoundalpacakitten



Series: A Threeway, Three Ways [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A COUPLE OF GUYS BEING GAY, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Flirting, Brosexuality, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Crack, Danbeauminov Is My New Fave Rarepair, Epic Bromance, F/F, Fluff, Football Player Sam Wilson, Football Player Steve Rogers, Frottage, Fuckwaffle and Crispy Caramel, Gay Bucky Barnes, Human Disaster Bucky Barnes, Human Disaster Everybody, Human Disaster Steve Rogers, Humor, Ice Cream, Idiots in Love, Jocks and Nerds, M/M, Masturbation, Memes, No Beta We Die Like... Well You Know, No Footballs Were Harmed In The making Of This Fic, Threesome - F/F/F, Threesome - M/M/M, Threesome for Everybody, Wooing, bros, just a couple of dudes being guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25697488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundalpacakitten/pseuds/profoundalpacakitten
Summary: Sam and Steve were quickly approaching, which was causing Bucky a great deal of distress.“Nat!”She finally raised an eyebrow and looked up from what must have been a riveting convo on Whatsapp. “Bucky, I'm not a dude and I will not manspread my textbooks like this whole table belonged to me just so you can escape being the most awkward human being on the planet.”Bucky groaned and let his head fall down onto his textbook. “I hate you.”This is what happens when Steve and Sam, sophomores and college football players, decide to set their sights on Bucky, a cute, flailing freshman made up of 75% engineering papers and 225% gay panic.
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: A Threeway, Three Ways [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065659
Comments: 48
Kudos: 94
Collections: AUgust 2020





	1. Meeting the golden duo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hark_bananas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hark_bananas/gifts).



> This was betaed by the best of the best, [Hark Bananas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hark_bananas/profile) all the flailing is my present for you.
> 
> Be warned: I am european. All I know about US colleges are like... TV shows, fanfiction and the like... three mlm books I read set uip in college. Also, IDK if the subject will crop up, but since this is fluff and the world is shit, let's just assume that student debt doesn't exist in this universe, that way our quartet can lounge on the college lawn without having any kind of existential dread about credits and selling their soul to crushing capitalism or whatever.
> 
> _And now, lo and behold. Bucky "I can't deal with hot people" Barnes._

Bucky spent an excessive amount of time in the library. Books, silence, and Natasha were all that he asked of this life, really.

Being part of the bookish nerd crowd in college suited Bucky just fine. Unlike high school, being bookish and nerdy wasn’t that frowned upon because so many of the students were actually interested in studying. In spite of all the stress, the tests, the finals, having to choose fucking majors and minors and all that jazz, Bucky actually liked college much more than high school.

The library was exceptionally packed, today, which didn’t particularly bother Bucky as long as no one tried to sit at the four-person table with him and Natasha. He really didn’t need the distraction since he was currently deep-diving into his electromagnetism lecture book, absent-mindedly wrapping tape around his pencil while Natasha was texting on her phone, the very picture of collected relaxation, as if she didn’t have a paper on Dostoyevsky’s _The Idiot_ to turn in next week. Bucky pushed his glasses back up his nose. Fuck Maxwell’s formulas.

“Incoming,” he heard Natasha say under her breath.

Upon hearing their agreed signal, Bucky tore his eyes away from the frankly mind-boggling number of derivatives decorating his textbook’s page just in time to see the two most beautiful human specimens inhabiting the college walk into the library: Sam Wilson, with his devastatingly cute smile and cheekbones, easygoing and gorgeously muscled, accompanied by Steve Rogers, all blond hair and boyish charm, rosy cheeked and built like a freaking tank. They were currently scanning their surroundings, and noticing — while being beautiful — that Bucky's and Natasha's table was the only one left. Oh, God.

Bucky dived back into his book to escape their sunny smiles and overall gorgeousness. Both were sophomores and on the college football team; Sam was a lineman and Steve the quarterback and, holy shit, Bucky wasn’t sure the human mind was made to fathom the sheer hotness. Knowing he couldn’t handle beautiful people, he and Natasha had agreed early on that she would give him forewarning if any gorgeous people were in the vicinity.

Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers definitely qualified as such.

“Bucky. Stop staring,” Natasha mumbled.

Bucky closed his mouth with a snap and sent her the dirtiest glare he could, knowing his wire-rimmed glasses had slipped down his nose again. “Nat,” he whispered angrily, frantically pushing a pile of math-covered exercise sheets over. She continued texting disinterestedly. “Nat!” he whispered again.

She ignored him, the traitor.

Sam and Steve were quickly approaching, which was causing Bucky a great deal of distress. He pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Nat!”

She finally raised an eyebrow and looked up from what must have been a riveting convo on Whatsapp. “Bucky, I'm not a dude and I will not manspread my textbooks like this whole table belongs to me just so you can escape being the most awkward human being on the planet.”

Bucky groaned and let his head fall down onto his textbook. “I hate you.” He didn’t just need signals, he needed escape routes too.

“Hi!” said a deep voice over his head. “These seats taken?”

Bucky looked up. And up. Into Sam Wilson’s fucking fabulous face. Steve Rogers was right behind him, bookbag on his shoulder, smiling… shyly?

Oh. My. God.

In the prolonged silence that stretched on while Bucky’s eyes took some time to process all of that, both football players grew a bit wary and Steve bit his lip, which didn’t encourage Bucky’s brain to reengage in any kind of thought process.

Natasha answered for him with a bubbly, “Yeah! Go ahead!” which was a total red flag: Natasha was not bubbly. Never was, never would be.

Bucky would have frowned at her if he had not been so busy wrapping his mind around the fact that Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson were going to sit down at his table and he was going to die, maybe, or spontaneously combust? He would at the very least understand nothing of Maxwell’s equations, that was for fucking sure.

Bucky scrambled to pile up his exercise sheets again to leave some space for Hot One and Hot Two.

Steve and Sam smiled politely and sat down and immediately began doing that thing Bucky had feared all along.

Chatting. While being devastatingly pretty.

“I thought coach was never gonna stop ranting about that last play,” Steve said while he pulled out one of his books. American Lit, huh.

“He’s just antsy because the next game isn’t far away, now.” Sam Wilson was sitting right beside Bucky. Oh. My. Sam. Wilson. “Oh, Steve, wait, can we start in on the math stuff, I haven’t read any of the material for American Lit.”

Steve shrugged and rummaged in his bag. Bucky looked up into Natasha’s keen eyes and was trying to telepathically transmit his gay dismay to her when he was interrupted in his paranormal endeavors.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

Bucky whirled around, eyes wide and startled. He got ready to squeak out a bemused, "What name? My name?" But the very distinct noise of tearing paper stopped him in his tracks.

"Dude," Steve said, eyes riveted on Bucky's textbook.

Bucky looked down at the book to see that the piece of tape he had been wrapping around his pencil had gotten stuck to one of the pages and all his flailing had managed to tear the page in two.

"Oh my god."

"Bucky, isn't that a library textbook?"

Bucky wailed, distressed, and tried to wave Natasha off, which only managed to tear more of the page because his hand was now entangled completely with the tape, the pencil, and the disaster.

"Okay, wait," came Steve's voice. Bucky looked at him retrieving a pair of scissors from a pencil case, like a dork. He then proceeded to lean over and — Bucky felt faint — cut the tape and then pull some more from the dispenser to repair the textbook page as much as possible.

Was it possible to faint from being attended to by a very hunky person? Was there something in Steve's aftershave? ‘Cause he smelled very good and Bucky felt very loopy right now.

"Here you go, nobody will know."

"Fhdjdfjgdhj."

Steve looked at him weirdly. Bucky hid his inner turmoil with a smile.

"This is like watching a car crash, wow," Natasha murmured, so Bucky sent her the dirtiest glare he could from behind his glasses.

"Like new!" Steve patted his shoulder and Bucky passed through the gates of heaven.

Natasha inspected Steve's work. "Interesting."

"Well, I live in a frat house. I do need to mend and repair a lot of stuff," he frowned, as if a sudden afterthought had hit him. “Mostly my stuff.”

Bucky only managed a tiny nod, completely baffled by Natasha's ability to still speak and act like this was all normal and there weren't two living Rodin statues talking to them.

And then it got worse.

Sam picked up one of his exercise sheets and hummed, "Dang, what's your major?"

"Hhhhhhhhh," Natasha saved him by kicking him in the shin, which OW, ow. "Mechanical engineering."

"Oh, that's impressive!"

Bucky actually lost his ability to produce words — again — and squeaked out something like "gfhdfgjll?" before bolting out of his chair and going to hide behind the Proceedings of SPIE shelves, where no one ever went, because who read archived Proceedings of SPIE?

Bucky, that's who.

"Did we do something wrong?" he heard Sam ask, while he spied on them from afar; Steve was craning his neck, trying to see where he’d gone.

"Nah, he's just being a disaster," Natasha, that unforgivable treasonous fake friend, said.

"What's his name?" Steve asked, his eyes fixed on the wrong shelf because Bucky was being totally the best spy ever.

"Bucky Barnes, why d'you ask?" And why the hell wasn't she still engrossed in her Whatsapp convo?!

Bucky wasn't really of the fight type when confronted with mortification, so he chose flight and escaped to the back of the library, thus missing the twin blushes and mumbled evasive answers from Steve and Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was initially posted as the AUgust challenge for College AU. I finally decided to make it a chaptered fic :D
> 
> There will be 6 chapters total, and this'll be dumb. Beware.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @AlpacaKittens.


	2. The Birth of a Bromance

To understand the depth of Bucky’s gay crisis, though, one might need a modicum of context. After all, who were Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson? Why so beautiful? Why?

Or as Bucky would say: hhhhhhhhhhhhhh-a.? sqk.

Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers hadn’t always been an item. Their meeting was less random happenstance and much more inevitable destiny, or a question of being two celestial objects on a set course that would always end up with them in the same orbit at some point.

They met on the first day of freshman year and hit it off swiftly, shared humour, shared smiles and shared interests bringing them together.

They’d been inseparable since. After the first day, they did rush week together and enrolled in the same frat. In spite of choosing different majors, they still picked the same minor and kept exchanging notes and helping or, like, “hanging out with my bro” for some emotional support while the other studied.

They were bros.

Their friendship was the kind that had no secrets, no boundaries. Since they were both at college on a sports scholarship, they also ended up on the same team, with the same hobbies, same timetables.

Long story short, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson got on like a house on fire and were the bestest of bros.

Like all bro-ships, they shared the good, and they shared the bad.

When Sam’s boyfriend Riley dropped out and travelled back to his parents' home country in Europe, Steve Rogers was there, and he brought a six pack and some games and they drowned Sam’s sorrows in the only way bros rightfully did. They hugged a lot, and Sam got over Riley with the help of his meat-slab-sized dumb blonde best dude.

And when Steve’s girlfriend Peggy disparaged his smarts one too many times, Sam was there to tell him, “Bro, you the best of dudes, I can’t let my bro be treated like that.” And Steve had nodded, his chin trembling and his feelings all hurty. Sam had punched his bicep all gentle-like, and he’d made Steve sit with him through every single Hockey All-Star game and post-game show to get his mind off things.

Steve had gotten over Peggy, thanks to Sam.

Bros.

The best of them.

They shared a room in the frat house, which suited them just fine. After all, what if they needed an emergency hug, huh? It was practical, it was the best, and they were both pretty cute, so this shared room situation was the simple reflection of the reality of their broship.

One early May morning, they were walking towards the liberal arts building because Steve was supposed to have his life art classes soonish, and Sam was actually supposed to be cramming for his phys ed classes. It’s what he had been doing the previous night at the library, until Steve had said he was at the house and available to study. So Sam had gone back to their room, though only twenty-five percent of the time had been spent studying, the rest being pizza, football strategy bro time, and taping back together some torn pages in Steve’s textbooks.

Steve’s whole hulking body had felt like a long line of warmth along Sam’s side. It had been a great fucking evening.

So, yeah, the next morning, Sam was starting to feel the urgency of the exam looming over him, but ever since he had memorised the muscles of the human body by using felt tip pens on Steve’s body that one night two weeks ago, he’d felt pretty confident that he was going to nail the anatomy test.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help much yesterday, man.”

Sam smiled wide and bounced a tennis ball on the pavement. “Nah that’s okay. Bro time is sacred time.”

“Damn, bro.” And Steve smiled too, all teeth, blonde hair crispy with gel and his backpack bumping against his super-muscular ass. 

They’d giggled like little kids when Sam had scribbled _gluteus maximus_ on Steve’s asscheek. Thank god Steve had a speedo, or else how would Sam have learned those dumb gluteal muscles, huh?

“Come on, Steve, you can say it.” He felt like teasing Steve. Felt like teasing his bro every time he found him that sunnily handsome.

“Uh?” His vacant smile turned puzzled. “Say what?”

“Say to the whole world that we’re the best of bros!” Sam sniggered and waved at the campus grounds around them.

However, instead of doing some kind of dumbass thing like he always did, Steve stopped ambling along the path and turned to Sam. Sam stopped short, too, and looked at him, eyebrows raised, because his bro, his friend, his Steve Rogers meat slab was looking… shy? He was doing that “Aw shucks” thing he did that always got to everybody, even when he was sporting his snapback and tight white shirt like a nineties punk-rock band member.

“Bro?”

Steve took a step closer. “We’re the best of bros,” he whispered.

Sam tilted his head, lost. “Dude. Why you whisperin’ that to me?”

Steve swallowed hard. “Cause. You’re my whole world, bro.”

Sam stayed silent for maybe half a second. “Dude.”

Steve nodded quickly, his smile wavering a bit. “Yeah.”

“Damn.” Sam bit his lip. “But… will you stay my bro, even if we are boyfriends?” Worst thing that could happen to Sam would be to lose this particular broship.

Steve shrugged his big shoulders and looked at him from under his eyelashes, but in a dude way. “Isn’t that what the whole bromance thing is all about?”

Heh. “You got a point.” And then. “Dude. Wow. That means now I can hug _**and**_ kiss you??”

And Steve seemed to come to that same realisation, too. He grinned, giddy, and grabbed Sam by the neck to kiss him squarely on the lips. The kiss was enthusiastic, bordering on sloppy, lingering, with their tongues tangling quickly and eagerly. Sam made the most of it, checking out if Steve’s bottom lip really was as pillowy as it looked by sucking on it before Steve released his neck.

When it was over, Steve was still grinning wide and happy. “Rad.”

Sam scoffed and slipped his arm under Steve’s to lead him down the path again. “Come on, bro, we got some classes and shit to study.”

* * *

Steve and Sam became a unit of bromance, and it felt like destiny. Then, one day, they both walked into the campus library and sat down at a table with a blasé red-haired woman who paid them no mind and a mechanical engineering freshman.

And their lives were never the same.

* * *

“Dude.”

Steve was nearly asleep, but Sam’s urgent whisper woke him up. Sam sat up slightly and leant his head on his hand, looking down at Steve.

“Steve, bro,” Sam repeated, “wake up.”

“Mmhm’awake?” Steve smacked his lips and focused on Sam’s face in the dark. “What’s up?”

“Steve. We need to seduce this Bucky guy.”

Now, that was something that would wake any red-blooded gay — or even slightly bi — man up. “Bucky?”

“The cute guy! Come on, how do we do this, he’s an intellectual.”

“Librarian cutie!” Steve exclaimed, smiling widely. “Good goddamn, the dimples on that sweet dude.” He stayed silent for a second. “Yeah we should try to go out with him.” Then he frowned and leant over Sam’s big body to look at the clock on their bedside table. “Sam, it’s late, I can’t strategise this late.”

Sam huffed, and grabbed Steve around the shoulders to drag him down.

Steve oofed and let himself fall onto Sam. The skin-on-skin contact felt so good. He smiled goofily and wiggled. “Sam, no strategy, cutie strategy tomorrow.”

Sam drug his palms down Steve’s broad back until he reached his the waistband of his boxers. “Okay, Steve, but stop wiggling.” He grabbed Steve’s ass cheeks, and Steve squeaked a manly… something. “Stop wiggling or there’ll be no strategy and no sleep.” Sam squeezed Steve’s ass again.

Steve buried his face in Sam’s shoulder and tried to fall asleep lying on Sam’s chest.

“Steve, you’re heavy.”

“Sam, you’re touching my ass.”

Let’s just say that there was neither strategising nor sleep for some time.

* * *

Now that Steve and Sam had progressed from broship to bromance, they found that focusing had gotten much harder, because they kept getting distracted by thoughts. Of the sexy kind. However, the subject of the sweet, nice and cute-as-fuck dude from the library managed to combine both thoughts of the sexy kind and focusing on a task — namely, daydreaming about cute Bucky — early the next morning.

“Did you see his curls?”

“Hmmm, so soft,” Sam mumbled from under his textbook.

“Mhm,” Steve doodled curls on his sketchpad, then switched to sketching Sam with the book like a tent over his head.

“And the noise he made too, like at the end, when he had to go see books or whatever?”

Steve stopped sketching with his tongue between his teeth and raised his eyes to the ceiling in remembrance. “You mean, the meep noise?”

“That one. So cute.”

“What are you doing, Sam?”

“Trying to learn body kinematics by absorbing the words directly from the page.”

“Huh.” Steve went back to doodling again. “And how’s that going for you?”

“Shh, I’m learnin’.”

Steve kept doodling, taking some extra time to shade in Sam’s chest and throat cause those were the best parts of his bro — okay his dick was nice, too — and a bro’s first mission in life was to advertise their bro’s best assets.

“Steve, what do you call it when you are in a relationship and then there’s another guy?”

Steve frowned in concentration, blocking in the shape of Sam’s waist disappearing under the bedsheet and some scattered phys ed papers. “I don’t know, cheating?”

Sam grabbed the book from his face and pushed it away as he turned onto his side, leaning on his elbow. “Wait, no, cheating is bad.”

“Yeah, I know… Come on, lay back down.”

“What’s cheating but in the good sense?” Sam asked as he laid back on the bed, head pillowed on his arms, showing off an interesting stretch of his pectorals.

Steve got distracted. Then— “Wait, I know!” He scrambled off the bed and went to the pile of books they had amassed when they were trying (and failing) to study American lit. Steve leafed through the thesaurus. “Ugh. Sam.”

“Hmm?”

“Cheat: person who defrauds others, con artist. Or, trick, defraud, fool, frustrate… thwart?”

Sam grimaced, and sat up, now that Steve had stopped sketching him. “Those are all pretty bad. Bucky looks so sweet, he can’t be a con artist or… a thwarter?” Sam tried the word on for size and seemed to find it lacking.

Steve threw the useless thesaurus back on the pile, which teetered dangerously. “Maybe we should ask Danbeau.”

Sam bit his bottom lip. “Maria and Carol? Why?”

“You know, they sometimes kiss other girls? Even though they are…” — Steve made his two index fingers kiss, like a dork — “together?”

“Okay, then.” Sam rolled out of their bed and dug in the dresser for clothes. “Let’s go find Danbeau.”

* * *

Describing Carol Danvers and Maria Rambeau might be best done by saying that they were the female equivalent of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. Dashing young women, athletes in the college baseball league, devastatingly gorgeous, destined to be together in some way, shape or form, best friends before they became girlfriends, from sis-ship to sis-mance.

Many on campus had taken to calling them by their couple name, kind of like Brangelina but without the drama, alcoholism, truck full of children, and will-they-won’t-they divorce. So, okay, kind of not like Brangelina at all.

Anyhow, Carol and Maria, or Danbeau, did sometimes take a third. They exercised their good taste by being beautiful together and also adding a beautiful girl to their couple in an attempt to make a supermassive blackhole of attractiveness. Maybe.

Steve should have thought of them earlier. Of course he and Sam should have gone to the experts in the field. Carol and Maria must have all the vocabulary. And expertise. Maybe they even had leaflets or something.

Maria was outside the sorority house doing some stretching exercises — seemed like she had just come back from a run — when she spotted them both. “Hey Rogers, Wilson! How’s it going?”

They greeted her and walked over. Sam opened fire first. “We need your help.”

“Okay?” She rotated her waist side to side, not stopping lest her muscles cool off.

Sam elbowed Steve in the ribs because he had decided that it was Steve’s turn to explain. Also, they had a theory that if Maria liked Carol, then it meant she must like blonde people better.

There had been a lot of strategising going on on the way over.

“Okay so what… is cheating, but nicely.”

That actually stopped Maria in her tracks and she released her ankle, because stretching her quad and listening to the college’s equivalent of the Da Vinky guys weren’t activities you could do at the same time.

“Can you… repeat that?”

“Okay, so.” Steve licked his lips and thought hard on his words. “We know sometimes you and Carol cheat but like everyone’s okay with it. Not like everyone on campus but like you and the third girl, also it’s a girl, but we won’t get a girl, because I’m gay, or maybe something else, but Sam is very gay, though, so we want to do the same as you, but gay and everyone’s okay, even though it’s cheating. But not. Cause the thesaurus was kind of bad, I mean it was all bad, how do we make this all good?”

“Jesus,” she said. She turned towards the sorority house and yelled at the façade, “Carol! Carol, get down here, baby! Carol!”

Carol Danvers appeared at an open window, dressed in an oversized sweater with her hair in disarray. “What’s up?”

“You need to hear this.”

Steve fidgeted. This was one of those moments where he felt like people were making fun of him and Sam, but he couldn’t really pinpoint why. Sam put his hand on the small of his back, and Steve smiled back at him.

Whatever, nothing was really bad as long as he had his bro at his side.

Carol came over, still engulfed in her sweater, blonde hair tied in a messy topknot and a curious smile on her face.

“Okay, can you repeat what you said?” Maria asked.

Steve did so.

By the end of his long-winded question, Carol was biting both her lips like the guy in the meme trying not to laugh, and Maria had just put her hand on her cheek and was looking at him in awe.

There was a second of silence.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “You know, we know you’re laughing at us, right?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Carol scrambled to apologise, and Maria followed suit. “It was just…”

“Your question is just a wild ride, Rogers, is all,” Maria continued, smiling. “Okay so your problem is… you wanna bang another guy.”

Steve looked at Sam, who looked back, and then nodded at Danbeau.

“Okay, but you still wanna stay a couple.”

“Won’t leave my bro.” Steve mumbled, churlish.

Carol whispered, “Bro,” looking like she was having a _moment_ , as Maria continued to summarise Steve’s question. “And you both lack the vocabulary about that situation, and how to proceed?”

Sam picked up the conversational ball when he noticed Steve was getting into a sulk. “Yeah, that.”

“So what you want to do is called a threesome, okay?” Both Steve and Sam mumbled the word to themselves. Meanwhile, Maria continued, “And what Carol and I do, is actually flirt separately with our girl, then both at the same time.”

Wow.

“Then we make our intentions clear. Be clear,” she insisted. Sam and Steve nodded; at her side, Carol added, “being clear means saying it with words, no subtext allowed.”

“This. Then we get the girl back at the sis-house, and then I don’t think this is relevant to your interests since you like…”

She made a grimace.

“Bucky?” Sam inquired.

Carol bit her lips again like the meme guy.

“No, Wilson… I was gonna say dicks. You like dicks.”

Sam smiled, “Yeah, that too, heh.”

“Although, if you are interested in Bucky Barnes, we need to exchange numbers.”

Steve finally unsulked enough to ask, “Why?”

“Cause you get the boy, and we get the girl, man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are dumb, I love them.


	3. Freshman Wooing Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have this nice visualisation at the beginning of the chapter, to really hit you in the face how soft our three dumbasses are...

Bucky Barnes was not stupid, okay? He was not. He didn’t believe in the concept of dumb, just in the concept of having the right smarts for the right task. So he was engineering smart, okay, at least he hoped so, or else getting an engineering degree would be his undoing.

But it turned out he might be absolutely ill-adapted to Wilson and Rogers, though, because he had no fucking clue what was currently happening. He was Wilson and Rogers unsmarty-pants. Too bad, because he would really like to major in Wilson and Rogers.

It had started mostly innocently two days ago, with Steve Rogers getting his tray at the cafeteria. One minute Bucky was there, getting ready to leave and chatting with Natasha, who still had that Dostoyevsky paper to write but was very fucking zen for someone with zero words and three days left. Next second, a six-foot-two enthusiastic blonde slab of meat was saying, “Oh, lemme grab that for you!” and taking his tray back and… what?

“What?” He looked at Rogers’s retreating back and subsequent shy — shy? SHY? — smile before the guy turned back to Wilson to high-five him and throw an arm over his shoulders, and then Wilson turned and smiled — !!!! — too, sweetly. Sweetly.

“Do I need to call an ambulance? Because I’m not reviving you if you keel over.” Natasha poked his left arm.

“Nat.”

“Yes?”

“I—” He shook his head. “Wait, aren’t Rogers and Wilson an item?”

The only answer he received was the loud slurping sound of Natasha drinking her soda and two eyebrows raised in apparent derision.

* * *

It didn’t stop there.

The afternoon after Steve Rogers took his tray back, it was Sam Wilson’s turn to _escort_ him to his Mechatronics lab after dark because “it’s a long walk.” The walk had _been_ long, but maybe not because of actual physical, measurable, reasons. It had been psychologically long. Mostly because Sam Wilson was radiating gorgeousness and had this fucking smile on his face and kept asking Bucky questions about the class and saying that it was all kinds of “amazeballs.”

So the walk didn’t feel long because Sam was annoying, but because Bucky’s brain was running a mile a minute trying to think of something cool and clever to say when Sam wasn’t asking him questions about himself.

Bucky racked his brains and ended up trying to ask something about football. Like a dumbass.

“Did you score a lot of runs lately?” He asked in a wavering voice, unsure about every single word in that sentence and if they even applied to the world of sports.

“You mean touchdowns?” Sam asked, bewildered.

“Oh, is that what it’s called?” Sam nodded at Bucky’s wide-eyed look. “‘Cause you score by touching the ground, right?” Thankfully, they had just arrived at the lab door, which meant that he would soon be free to scream at Natasha via phone about changing his name and fleeing the country. “I mean, is that why you reach the end of the field and go like… ‘yeet’?” Why did all his interactions with beautiful people go so wrong?

Sam opened and closed his mouth several times, shuffling in place. He looked slightly confused. “Well, yeah. Except I don’t, cause linebackers are a defensive position.”

Bucky blushed to the roots of his hair. Defensive? Did that mean Sam didn’t score touchdowns? Oh dear, did that change all the vocabulary, too? Bucky didn’t know shit about football— oh no, was it still played with those funny oval-shaped balls when in defensive positions? It must be.

“Oh, sorry. But you still play with your balls though, right?” Sam gaped at him. Then Bucky listened back to what he had just said, thanks to his social anxiety grammophone, always right there to give some in-depth analysis for his blunders. “I mean balls. The balls of… Oh my god…”

“I…”

Bucky closed his eyes. “Please don’t answer that. Ignore the last five seconds, change the subject.”

“Uh. Okay. Um. You’re cute, then.”

Bucky’s eyes flew open, but yes, this was still Sam Wilson right in front of him. “What?”

“Barnes?” The teacher poked her head through the door. “I’m not teaching intro to mechatronics in the corridor.”

Bucky squeaked and waved dorkily at Sam, who waved dorkily back, his big gap-toothed smile back on his face, and skedaddled into the classroom, grateful to be able to escape the incredibly awkward conversation.

* * *

“Natasha!” Bucky whisper-shouted to his soon-to-be-not-best-friend, currently busy sunning herself on the lawn and pretty conspicuously Not Writing A Dostoyevsky Essay Two Days Before A Deadline — how was she not spelunking down into book digests and critics?

“Drink your slurpee, Bucky.”

“I can’t!”

Natasha graced him with a baleful look over the top of her oversized sunglasses.

Bucky made a flailing gesture towards Wilson’s retreating back, and also his ass. Oh my. That ass.

Natasha pointedly looked at Wilson over her sunglasses and turned to Bucky again with the utmost contempt. “Are you trying to tell me he doesn’t make you thirsty?”

Bucky wheezed a strangled breath. “Of course he does! Am I not gay enough for you?”

She pushed her sunglasses back up and laid down on the grass with poise. “Then maybe turn around so you can be even gayer.”

He looked back towards where Sam had gone after sweetly gifting him a blue slurpee — his favorite, how the fuck did he know?! — and saw Steve and Sam making out. Was this how blackholes formed? Too much hotness, too much gay, not enough space continuum?

“Oh, baby jeezus.” He slurped his slurpee and did, actually, feel one hundred percent gayer, yes.

Behind him, Natasha snorted.

“Why are they doing this?” He looked down at his slurpee forlornly.

“Sucking face? Maybe because they are a couple?”

“No, I mean, why are they being all… nice to me?”

Bucky felt Natasha’s hand on his arm, delicate and attentive. Her gaze, when he stared back at her, was gentle and soft. “Oh, Bucky. You know, when two boys like a boy real strong—”

“Nat.”

“—it sometimes feels like your heart goes all pitter-patter, you know, and that’s—”

“Please, Natasha, I’m having a crisis over here.”

“Oh no, do you mean you…” — she fake gasped and took off her sunglasses — “ _like_ -like them?”

Bucky cheeks felt like fire was licking over them. He frowned and slurped at his slurpee, then chewed on the straw. No, he didn’t _like_ -like them, no, absolutely not. They were hot like the surface of the Sun, yeah, but he didn’t really _know_ them, right? He would need to know Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson to really like them, right?

Still. He had eyes, working eyes, and he also had a brain, and for all that he had a lot of brain cells pedalling like crazy in this bicycle race, he still couldn’t figure out why two guys, involved with each other, were paying attention to him, Bucky Barnes.

Was this a practical joke?

He stared dejectedly into his slurpee. Maybe this was just a practical joke. Or maybe they were trying to be nice in a generic sense, maybe Steve and Sam were nice to a lot of people, or maybe this was charity… Some sort of tray-carrying, slurpee-gifting charity work.

Or something football related.

“Maybe this is a publicity stunt. Something related to football. Do you know if they give bonus points to players when they are being nice?” he wondered aloud.

“Bucky.” He raised his eyes to meet Natasha’s serious stare. “Bucky, there is no such thing as bonus points for nice in football. It’s just a bunch of sweaty people in armoured gear everywhere but their asses, running around with a football.”

“I asked Sam Wilson if he played with his balls,” Bucky blurted.

Natasha stayed silent for a second. “I don’t know you.”

“Please help.” He pleaded, desperate.

Natasha seemed to gear up to deliver some sort of zinger, something really cutting that would maybe shake Bucky out of his funk — she was really good at doing that — but the words died in her throat when Carol Danvers, captain of the women’s baseball team, strode across the lawn several yards away.

Bucky saw Natasha freeze, and he whirled around, noticing the arrival of a new contender in the disastrous playing field that was Bucky and Natasha’s love lives. Or just _life_ life, seeing as both of them had zero love life to speak of at the moment.

So Carol Danvers was something, alright. Bucky didn’t really know, because he was as gay as a glittery pink jockstrap, but as stated before: he had eyes and a working brain. So he could understand where Natasha was coming from.

‘Cause Danvers had those shoulders, very good sturdy shoulders, still very womanly, but in a “can perform a fireman carry on my sexual partners” way. Also, she had a girlfriend, Maria Rambeau, who so happened to be campus twitter famous ever since a video of her training at the gym had done the rounds, where she’d hip-thrust 220 lbs and then had eaten a cookie, given to her by a very sweaty Carol clad only in a sports bra.

Bucky had no idea what 220 lbs represented. One and a half Buckies? Two Natashas? Three? Maybe?

Carol and Maria even had a couple name, that was how famous they were on campus.

“Nat…” Bucky turned back towards his friend, only to see her put her sunglasses back on with disdain, as if she hadn’t been drooling five seconds ago and losing her train of speech.

“That’s a nice slurpee you got there, Bucky.”

Bucky squinted, suspicious. “Are you seriously gonna sit there and play as if you didn’t have your own case of lesbian panic?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She laid back down on the lawn.

“Natasha.”

“I have never seen a woman in my life.”

“…”

“Ever.”

* * *

The next day saw Bucky going to the library sans Natasha. He didn’t know if she was napping, at ballet class, or performing dark witchcraft rituals to will into being her Dostoyevsky essay, but she wasn’t there, and he had some studying to do for his lecture on electrodynamics.

His powerwalking through the library screeched to a halt when he saw his usual table absolutely overrun by piles of books, and Steve Rogers’ blonde head bent over them.

What.

Those couldn’t possibly be for studying. Nobody studied using five piles of books stacked ten high and various other textbooks strewn about. He didn’t know what Steve was majoring or minoring in, but it couldn’t require seventy-five books.

Bucky approached the table cautiously, his curiosity getting the better of him, and helping him overcome his flailing brain from short-circuiting like always when confronted with the dazzling handsomeness of Steve Rogers.

He sat down at the table, prompting Steve to look up from his painstaking work taping back together a damaged book.

“Hi.”

Steve finished taping, tongue pinched between his lips, and once finished, let out a little satisfied “ha!” before beaming at Bucky, all pink in the cheeks. “Hi!”

“Are you… What are you doing?”

Steve drooped, and it was an actual physical movement, observable and quantifiable by science. The man was truly a human puppy. “I got detention.” He showed the book he had been working on; the page had been torn in a corner, and there was some ink damage on the page, dots and splotches. Then Steve pointed at a kit of some sort, with little bottles and neat rows of boxes of something called filmoplast. “I damaged my art history textbook again because we were playing beer pong and I used the book as a prop for a slingshot, and then it all kind of toppled, and when the librarian saw that I had washed the beer off with water, and that some of the torn pages of my book had been mended with scotch tape, she looked like I had kicked a dog, but then I told her I do this when I damage books at the library, too, and then she yelled, so now I’m supposed to learn to repair books correctly.”

Bucky took one second or two to process all this. The chain of events, albeit quite logical on the surface, raised so many questions about everything.

A beer pong slingshot?

Also, could a librarian even give you detention? Was Steve being hazed by the librarian?

Bucky snuck a glance at the person manning the library today, but the woman looked innocuous and amenable. Even so, you never knew where bullying might come from.

In the meantime, Steve had gone back to his task, and had a new book open, this one a science-fiction novel with several pages torn off.

“Are you… hm… looks like there are a lot of books,” Bucky hedged.

“Oh yeah. At first madam librarian told me to mend two books and then she said I was doing a good job, so now I’m just doing the rest.”

Bucky eyed the towering piles of books of all sorts surrounding Steve. “ _All_ the rest?”

In front of him Steve looked really focused on applying some sort of glue on a translucent papery fabric all along the torn pages. “As many as I want to,” he replied, then scrunched his nose — Bucky noticed how it looked like it had been broken, but without detracting from his overall beauty, ugh, beautiful people — “I kind of like it.”

Bucky looked at Steve’s work, all neat and painfully meticulous. “It does look like you’re applying yourself a lot.”

Steve smiled sunnily at Bucky, which made him think briefly of pulling out his sunglasses so as not to be blinded. “I like doing manual stuff. This is like art!”

This elicited a soft smile from Bucky’s lips. Damn, Steve Rogers was something else. “You like art?”

Steve blushed, and dove back into his work, glueing the page onto the book. “I’m an art major,” he mumbled.

Bucky’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline — so that explained the art textbook lying around in his room, waiting for the occasion to become a beer pong slingshot prop — but when Steve raised his gaze shyly up to check Bucky’s reaction, it was Bucky’s turn to smile cheerfully. “That’s so cool.” Steve looked surprised. “It really is. Art is all kinds of interesting, there’s history and philosophy behind the subject and it takes a lot of dedication to improve as a skill. I was just surprised because it’s not what people would usually pin on a football guy.”

“Oh.” The shy looks Steve had been throwing were now turning kind of watery, and Bucky didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but Steve answered before Bucky could fumble through an apology. “Thank you. That’s. I mean, I’m good at physical stuff, you know? The… with my hands, stuff that I can see. I’m just bad at… science and literature, cause you just have to think so much about stuff that doesn’t exist in front of you. Even abstract paintings are easier ‘cause they make you feel, you know?” Steve pressed a wide ruler against the paper so that the mended book would stick together and kept on mumbling into his beard, all abashed and hesitant, his voice harbouring undertones of trepidation and enthusiasm. “It’s just so cool, and you can measure up to yourself, surpass yourself all the time, there’s always a new trick to discover. It’s like football in a way, you know?”

Now, Bucky was just looking at Steve with a half-smile on his face, thinking that he looked just so sweet when he was being passionate.

“... Or maybe you don’t. I mean, Sam understands, but I know people say we’re dumb, so maybe this isn’t making much sense,” Steve finished, and continued pressing on the book before shoving it aside to let it dry.

No, Bucky couldn’t let that fly.

Bucky stopped him with a hand on his arm and Steve looked up at him, all flushed and uncertain.

“You’re not dumb, Steve. I think you’re pretty smart in a lot of ways.”

Steve shook his head with his lips pinched together, saying no with all his being.

“Hey. Seriously. I don’t know anything about art and football looks complicated as hell to me. I mean I tried reading the wikipedia entry on gridiron and it gave me a headache. So what if you are smart about, like, pastel things and making ball passes and stuff, but can’t figure out what Hooke’s Law is?” Bucky shrugged and patted Steve’s arm trying not to think too much about how fucking soft his skin was — did the man _moisturise his arms_? Oh Jesus, what else did he moisturise? — “People are shitty and they have zero passions in life, so they can get bent. You are an interesting person.”

Steve opened his mouth. Closed it. Bit his lips and looked down, then just mumbled a meek, “Thank you.”

“Can I help?” Bucky pointed at the mountaintops of books.

“Yes!”

And with that, Steve returned to his cheery self, explaining in great details how he needed to repair torn pages, how you went about erasing various blotches and how some you didn’t, and then he went on a tangent about bookbinding tricks that he had learned watching a youtube video because he had tried reading the wikipedia page, but kind of like the gridiron one, it really only helped to hurt his brain.

“I just really like videos, you know? They’re neat. And that way I can see, which is much easier than reading, right?” He then went on explaining how Sam also had a hard time retaining all the written stuff in textbooks, so they used tricks to learn.

“—kinda like the time I stripped all my clothes so Sam could learn all the muscles in the body by drawing them on me with a sharpie, that was cool!” Bucky’s jaw hit the floor. “But it tickled a lot, though, especially around the… uh… you know.”

“Do I?” Bucky squeaked.

“Well… you know.” Bucky still didn’t, but he was now uncertain as to what exactly he knew or didn’t know. Because he was expiring, and dead people, like Jon Snow, knew nothing. Steve finished glueing some more book repair tissue and then made a circle with his brush, all white with Norbond, in the direction of his lower body. “Between the legs?”

“The thigh biceps?” Bucky asked, at a loss. Like football stuff, muscle stuff was not his forte.

“… I… No?” They exchanged loaded stares over the table, each trying to suss out from the other’s reaction whether there was such a thing as a thigh biceps. “Anyhow, the insides of the thighs, they tickle a lot.”

“Do they?”

Steve looked at him weirdly, but seemed to shrug it off and poked at one of the books to check that it had dried properly. “Yeah, and my pecs are super sensitive, Sam couldn’t draw a straight line there, I was laughing too much!” He giggled.

Bucky forgot to breathe for a second.

“Bucky, are you finished with this one?”

“Aaaaaaah…” Bucky’s voice died. He blinked at Steve. “What? What, question, what?”

Steve tilted his head, puzzled, and asked again, “Are you finished with this book?”

Bucky looked down and quickly cut the filmoplast tape and pressed it down quickly, snapped the book closed, and shoved it at Steve, who took it with a confused half-smile.

“Are you okay?”

Bucky nodded jerkily, “I really like repairing books with you!” He managed to say, with much effort.

Steve smiled, “I’m glad.”

* * *

An hour later, Steve bade Bucky goodbye outside the library, and giddily made his way to the frat house.

* * *

At the same time, Bucky was frantically typing a text to Natasha.

_Nat, I think I’m himbosexual._

_Wow thats a shocker_

* * *

While Steve and Bucky were busy having awkward conversations about thighceps, Sam was knocking on dorm room sixteen’s door, nervous but trying to muster some courage. He was a man on a mission. He hadn’t even finished knocking when the redhead — Natasha, she’d said her name was, back at the library a week ago — opened the door in her pajamas. She had her hair pinned up messily and a printed essay in hand with the title _The Idiot_. Damn, maybe that wasn’t an essay? Did she have one of those diss-books like in _Mean Girls_?

She stood there, saying nothing and looking at Sam with snake eyes, as if he was dinner or something.

“Hi.” She kept up the snake eyes schtick, but joke was on her ‘cause Sam’s football coach was Nick Fury, and Natasha had nothing on him. “I’m here because I would like Bucky’s phone number.”

Natasha brought her hand to her cheek, delicately, and affected an expression of shock, “Oh. Боже мой. I no speak English,” she said, faking the thickest Russian accent possible.

Sam frowned. “Come on, Natasha, please. This is important. You already gave us his name, I thought you were on our side?”

Natasha rolled her eyes heavenward and rolled up her mean girl diss-book to point it at him. “You are on _your_ side, you and your wonder boy.” She then pointed at herself. “I’m on Bucky’s. Also if you think of seducing my best friend as a battle with sides and shit, I’m not so sure I should be encouraging anybody into a relationship with you.”

Ah, fuck. “No, that’s not what I meant!” Damn, he needed to pick his words more carefully. “I just. Listen.”

She shrugged. “I can listen, not sure I’ll _understand_ seeing as I no understand English, me Russian girl, oh no!”

Sam just kind of stood there trying to understand what she was getting at, but he… didn’t.

“Wilson, just… try to be convincing, cause I’m not going to send Bucky out to get his heart stomped on.”

“We’re not! We like him! A lot!” This didn’t look like it was swaying Natasha any. She crossed her arms. “Okay. Me and Steve, we want to date Bucky, properly, okay? We even went to Carol and Maria for advice, you know, so we’re serious.” At this, Natasha seemed to perk up.

Well, that was good news for Danbeau… Maybe even good news for him if he managed to make it work as leverage?

Natasha recovered her serious attitude fast, however. “Alright. You wanna date, and not just fuck him into next week and then discard him, so you went to the couple notorious for having a revolving bedroom door?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “No! I mean, yeah, they are like that, but also maybe not, sometimes they keep girlfriends for some time!” He thought back on it. “Like, for a while there last year, they had a girlfriend for three months.”

He said this like this was a lot.

Natasha looked like this wasn’t.

He was feeling distinctly like he was grasping at straws. Like that time Coach Fury had sent the team to do some rock climbing as a team building exercise and to teach them better grips and shit, and Sam had been stuck on his rock climb metres up from the ground and completely unable to either get down or climb up.

Natasha was that much of a hardass.

“We just like him a lot and he’s sweet, how can we date him for a long time if we don’t even have a chance to get to know him and get him to know us?”

“Maybe you’re right, but I think you should have to work for it. If it’s too easy, then how do I know that you’re not gonna flake off at the first problem that arises?”

Sam scoffed, “‘Cause you’re saying that just speaking with you isn’t ‘working for it’? Dude.”

She frowned deeply. “Do not call me dude, ‘dude’.” Then she sighed. “Alright, so maybe you are working for it currently. Which is exactly my point, so why should I give you his number?”

Time for his trump card then. “I know which café Danbeau goes to after practice.”

The statement fell like a little conversational bombshell, and Natasha seemed to hesitate. She could accept this tidbit of information, but then what was clearly Sam fishing would transform into Sam _knowing_ of her interest. Or, she could not accept the intel, and then she would miss out.

However, she would stay _unperceivable_.

“No deal, I wanna see you sweat. And Bucky deserves people making an effort for him.”

And she slammed the door in Sam’s face.

* * *

Steve texted Sam, who told him he was back at the frat house but “No dice on getting Bucky’s number from Natasha,” which put a slight damper on Steve’s mood until he remembered the last hour and a half he had spent with Bucky. Steve was one step away from skipping to the frat, he was so happy.

Once there, he banged the door to his and Sam’s room open and tackled his boyfriend to the bed.

“I had the best date, Sam, the **best**!”

Sam chortled and used the excuse of hugging Steve tight to get his hands down his shorts. “You did? You had a _date_ with Bucky, like a date for real?”

“Mhm!” Steve mumbled giddily and squirmed until Sam’s hands grabbed his asscheeks more firmly. “Wanna celebrate.” He bit into Sam’s shoulder — deltoid, woo, he’d retained some of Sam’s muscle lessons, too.

“Sex?”

Steve whooped and kind of dragged and pushed Sam completely onto the bed. Sam laughed and managed to twist at some point to get the lube and lob it onto the bed so that it fell next to them.

“How?” Steve asked, and licked at Sam’s shoulder, dragging his tongue across his collarbone. It really was so cool that Sam spent half his time without a shirt, better for access, a win all around!

Sam sought his lips and they spent some time just kissing, their tongues licking and tangling, biting lips and just basically getting worked up. Kissing was always a sloppy, enthusiastic affair between the both of them, the kind of affair that got Steve riled up in no time. Steve sort of forgot that he’d just asked how they should have sex and began rutting against Sam, his dick still trapped in his underwear with his ass hanging out of his shorts getting fondled by Sam.

Then Steve wiggled just the right way for their dicks to brush through the layers of jeans and shorts. It sent a zing of electricity down Steve’s back, and he gasped, which Sam took as an opportunity to nip at his bottom lip and come up for air.

“We need to get these off,” Sam mumbled against Steve’s mouth, all shiny with spit and red from being kissed so much. Steve replied with an unintelligible mumble and moved his hips slowly so that his now painfully-hard boner could drag against Sam’s. “Off, off, off.” Sam pushed Steve off, who whined, but ultimately complied, throwing his shorts and boxers into a corner of their messy bedroom.

Sam squirmed around on the bed and slipped out of his jeans and underwear, then sat up and caught Steve by the hand. “Butt stuff?”

Steve hemmed and hawed. Sam rolled his eyes and pulled him to the bed with a jerk of his arm, toppling him over. Steve giggled. “Maybe?” and then he pushed up on his arms and positioned himself so their dicks aligned. “Or just” — he drug his pelvis up, rubbing his dick along Sam’s and smearing some precome on Sam’s belly — “ugh that’s good.”

Sam grabbed Steve’s neck and brought him down for a kiss, as they ground against each other, their bodies progressively getting slick with sweat, their breaths heavier, kisses messier. Steve could feel his dick right next to Sam’s, trapped between their bodies, growing ever harder and brushing up against their pubic hair and treasure trails, ballsacks all squished between the tangled mess of their legs as they rutted like teenagers. Sam’s hands seemed to be permanently glued to Steve’s ass, kneading and helping him grind on Sam, and it did… it did _things_ to Steve’s brain. Short-circuity things.

“Samsamsamsam—” Steve repeated as Sam licked at his throat and under his jaw, “Sam, buttstuff.” They had only recently ventured into this unknown territory, it was fantastic.

“Okay, okay.” One of Sam’s hands detached reluctantly from Steve’s asscheek and Steve huffed a whine as one particular hip roll made sparks behind his eyelids and lit a fire in his belly. There was the sound of lube getting uncapped. “Okay, got the lube.”

“One, one,” Steve whined and then smothered anything Sam could have said with another heated kiss.

Steve felt Sam’s index finger, all slick and slightly cold, slide down his crack, and the idea of what was coming made him groan, a sound that was lost to them both trying to kiss but mostly just panting into each other’s mouths. Steve bit his lip and closed his eyes as Sam grabbed one of his asscheeks and pulled on it to expose his asshole, his finger now circling his hole. “Sam, ah!”

“Steve.” Sam’s finger circled another time and then pushed, pushed on his rim, right as Steve ground his cock against Sam’s. He pushed forward, his dick gliding through their combined sweat and precome, and then pulled back, pushing Sam’s finger in.

“Oh!” Good goddamn, the sensation was still so weird but it was the combination of it, and the anticipation of what was to come, and the hot glide of their dicks rubbing on each other. Everything was making this amazingly sexy.

“That’s it, bro, that’s it,” Sam crooned as Steve sped up his griding, feeling Sam’s finger inside him, deeper and hooking on his rim, toying with it and searching for that sweet fucking spot and oh, fuck!

“Sam!” Steve felt his whole body seize once Sam managed to find his spot. He stopped humping Sam and, once he’d regained some of his brainpower, he twisted to the side and grabbed the lube, squirted some onto his right hand and came back to Sam, who had stopped fingering him. “Sam, wait wait.” Steve propped himself on his left arm to get access to both their dicks. “Okay, good, go ahead.”

Sam laughed and then kissed Steve as he resumed fingering him. Steve took both their dicks in hand and tried to time his jerks to Sam’s fingerfucking, tried to stoke the fire at the same time Sam was blowing on the flames, but he quickly lost the rhythm as Sam started to play with his rim again, and pushed on his good spot.

“Prostate.” Steve muttered, swiping his thumb over the heads of their cocks, mixing lube, precome and sweat and feeling like he was getting high as a kite.

“Yes, yes,” Sam said, maybe in approval of Steve’s sudden anatomy epiphany, or maybe because he was getting close. Both their dicks felt so heavy and hard in Steve’s hand as he jacked them. Steve looked down at their cocks held tightly in his grip, the flushed heads drooling, peeking through his hand as he pumped down, then disappearing into his grip as he pumped up. Everything felt so fucking slick and hot and hazy and Sam had his index finger buried to the last knuckle, and everytime he pulled it nearly out, Steve could feel Sam’s other fingers right there touching his rim, and they had never— two was just— he just—

“Oh fuck, Sam!” Steve sped up the movement of his fist, feeling so close that his head was spinning.

“Come on, Steve, oh fuck!” Sam urged him on moving his hips in time with Steve’s, and Steve jacked them harder, faster, it was all so, so good, so fucking wet, he could feel Sam’s abs contracting more and more a sure sign he was just as close as Steve.

Sam came first, with a grunt and a hiss and a tug on Steve’s rim that sent him over the edge. They both spurted between their bodies, adding to the mess of lube and sweat. Steve gasped and fell flat on Sam’s chest, winded and dazed.

They both caught their breaths, all messy and empty-headed with the afterglow of sex.

“You think Bucky will want to do butt stuff?” Steve murmured, head squished between Sam’s shoulder and the pillow.

Sam patted his ass. “I don’t know.” Steve nodded even though Sam’s answer had been noncommittal. “Even if he doesn’t, there will be one dick more, can you imagine?” Sam asked, sounding a bit blown away.

“Woah.” Steve did complex math in his head. “Damn. How come three random things isn’t much, but three dicks is a lot?” he huffed, and dragged himself to the nightstand to get the tissues.

“Hmmmm. I think it’s all the possibilities.”

As Steve cleaned Sam perfunctorily, they both smiled widely at each other.

Three dicks.

The possibilities were _endless_.


	4. Freshman Wooing Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was unbetaed. **I am FREE from the chains of grammar and punctuation.**
> 
> NO ONE SHALL DICTATE ME WHERE TO PUT COMAS! sorry, commas.
> 
> Sorry, Bananas, today is the day I set fire to the world in glorious Frenchicised English.
> 
> Mistakes are all mine *fingerguns*

Bucky had an issue.

A problem.

He was in a _predicament_.

“Please lay yourself to rest.” He waved his hands around his crotch, hoping his prayers would be answered and the boner he was sporting would go down _right the fuck now_ instead of making him late to class because he would need to spend fifteen minutes in the shower. Or ten.

He thought of Steve.

His dick twitched.

“Ugh, no. Why don’t you settle down?” He whined at his own penis which didn’t hear him, because penises don’t have ears, and also because he was still thinking of Steve.

He sighed. Thinking of Steve was what got him into this mess in the first place.

He’d thought of Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson before going to sleep yesterday night, which had led to long hours wondering how they could be so sweet and also so hot but still retain human form. Then he’d remembered Steve’s blond hair all crisp and styled and stuff, and his aw shucks smile and his eyes getting all sparkly and animated when he talked about book repairs and art lessons and stuff. Then he’d thought of that strong beefy arm under his fingers and wondering if Steve moisturised, because his skin was so soft. And his arm hair were so fine and blonde, was he blonde _all the way_?

He should send the question to _Buzzfeed Unsolved_.

Long story short, he had popped a boner right there, had needed an emergency self love session so he could sleep, then it had been super late, so he had slept through his first alarm, snoozed the second and third ones, woke up late, had to rush through his morning routine — if he could even call it that — and jumped into the shower with only minutes to spare before he was late for class.

For the record, Bucky was going to put his tardy slip on Steve Rogers. Blond hair and gorgeous face absolutely withstanding.

And now, like the fucking **noob** he was, Bucky had made the mistake of thinking about Steve Rogers **again** , all the while knowing he couldn’t spare one single minute lest he be late for physics.

He’d thought of Steve Rogers stupidly soft muscular arms, and now his dick was staring him in the face like “hello, please, may I put the statement out there that Steve Rogers’ pecs must be as fuckable as the rest of his being?” and Bucky _did not have time for this_!

“Ugh.” Another stray thought came, picturing Sam and Steve when they had kissed on the lawn two days ago. Bucky’s dick twitched. “Oh my fuck! Okay.”

Bucky closed his eyes and put one hand on the shower wall, the other grabbed his cock and gave it two experimental pumps.

He didn’t have time for this, he thought, stroking up and down slowly, pleasure and annoyance swirling in his gut.

How the fuck did Rogers and Wilson live with each other, every damn day? They played on the same team and dated each other, did they walk around with boners all the time? Were they immune to muscles?

Bucky swiped his thumb on the head, once. Then twice, because he was sensitive there and it sent zings of electricity all down his spine. Would Steve’s dick be bigger? Smaller? Cut? Uncut? Oh dear, the possibilities were endless as long as they stayed in his mind.

After another swipe, Bucky pushed his thumb slightly against the tip and moaned. God, fuck, shit, Bucky could just imagine Steve on his knees with his mouth full of Bucky’s cock, so full the head would be kind of squished against his throat. Maybe Steve could deepthroat? Maybe not?

Would he choke on it?

“Ah- Oh fuck!!” Bucky started jerking himself off in earnest, leaving his pushing and prodding at the head to really work himself up. His sex addled brain reminded him vaguely that he still had a physics class to get to.

Fuck physics.

He coud just imagine that pair of lips, so fucking pink, getting all red and shiny with spit as Steve would suck up and swallow him down and- “Jesus fuck.”

And maybe there could be Sam Wilson and his fucking voice — oh god their voices were so fucking sexy, so — and he’d be encouraging Steve, because that seemed like what he did all the time. Maybe holding Bucky with his big hands roving all over Bucky’s body…

Bucky panted under the shower spray, his hand quickening its pace up and down his shaft. He felt hot all over, and not just because of the warm water sluicing down his body. His head was swimming. He squeezed a bit more on the upstroke, adjusted his hold as his ears filled with white noise and the sound of his ragged breaths.

Sam’s hands and Steve’s lips lewdly sucking on his dick like a fucking lollipop, god, fuck he couldn’t- just-

“Oh!” He took his hand off the wall and quickly went to push his fingers against his taint, letting himself lean against the back wall — thank god for smallass showers — his head felt faint, light, and the sound of his panting mixed with his thoughts of Wilson sighing and moaning while Steve would suck him off so good.

So-

“Oh! Shit- Ah!”

His orgasm crashed on him like a ton of bricks. He came all over himself since he’d been leaning against the shower wall, and he spent the next however much time staring dumbly at the spots of come sliding down his belly before they were washed off by the spray. His head was still full of tongues and moans and spit and spunk.

A porn show.

Once he regained two brain cells to rub together, he buried his face in his hands, “Oh god, what am I gonna do…” he moaned, thinking back on the fact that he had totally had the best wank session of his life thinking about both Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson.

Then his “you’re fucking later than late you asshole” alarm went off and he didn’t have any time to ponder the disaster looming upon him before dashing off to his morning class.

* * *

Steve and Sam had chosen a minor in biology. For Steve, it had seemed cool at the time and Sam had thought it would complement his cursus well. Turned out that neither of them understood fuck all about meiosis so they spent most of the lessons related to that minor trying to catch on their majors’ lessons, or talking about football.

And, for the last two weeks, talking about Bucky Barnes.

“I’m just saying, I had a whole date with him, seems only fair you should have one, Sam,” Steve whispered, hunched over his notes, which held the most beautifully intricate schematics for cytokinesis and absolutely no other words than the chapter title at the top of the page and some attempts at finding a good combination of Steve’s name and Sam’s and Bucky’s.

“Yeah, but the wooing…” Sam wondered, having stopped writing any semblance of notes at about the same moment where he’d asked Steve to tell him one more time about the date so he could live vicariously through his bro. “What if I haven’t wooed him enough?”

“We just need to keep the playing field even, Sam, it’s important.” Steve wrote _Steve Barnes-Wilson_ at the top of the page and looked at it critically. “And you need to show your best assets, bro.”

Sam sighed dejectedly. “But I don’t have none, dude,” he mumbled, all sad.

And no, Steve couldn’t let this slide. He stared up from his attempts at finding a good way to hyphenate to look indignantly at his dude, his bro, his best guy.

“Sam.” Sam only hummed and Steve noticed that he was crossing off all of his own attempts on his own notes to combine Samuel with Rogers and Barnes. Steve poked Sam on the bicep aggressively. “ _Sam_. None of that shit. You are the best buddy I have ever met, you are the best human being! And there are a lot of human beings on the planet, I know it, several billions, man! So that’s telling something, okay? You’re pretty good at football, you have a ginormous heart, biggest quads on the team and you are learning all sorts of cool shit to be a therapist, and that’s _rad_.”

Sam looked up at him with those deep dark brown eyes that Steve always had thought were really neat, and expressive. Beautiful in a bro way.

“None of that stuff, okay Sam? You’re the best, and I can’t woo an engineer alone, he’s got too much brain for one of me. We stick together, dating separately was shit, so we both date the same people now, remember?”

Finally Sam broke into a wide smile. “Yeah, you’re right. And if it doesn’t pan out, then whatever. Bros before… uhhh… Before…”

They both had a momentary brain fart, drawing a blank as to what bros took precedence over since hoes was derogatory right? Although not, because Val had said that hoeing was a perfectly good choice of employment as long as it was voluntary.

Also Bucky was aiming to do some engineering not hoeing.

“It’s just bros.” Steve declared finally.

“Yeah. Just bros, forever.”

* * *

At this stage, the library might just be called Bucky’s second home. He did have a dorm room, he did. He guessed he did. But perhaps would it be just simpler for everybody if he just brought a cot and settled in the corner by the SPIE proceedings. Maybe he could ask the librarian. She was nice. There would be the problem of showers and stuff, but really living between the shelves would save him some time.

With luck, he’d manage to absorb knowledge in his sleep because the books would be so close.

Bucky sighed and stretched in his seat, sheets upon sheets of exercises littered around him, remnants of his deep-dive into Lagrange-Helmholtz. He’d since shifted over to studying metal properties and material science, which was pretty interesting — also much needed if he wanted to be thorough on his future rupture mechanics essay — but also not conducive to not being hunched over a piece of paper for hours on end.

He felt his spine pop and immediately groaned; gosh, that felt so good.

“Hey!”

Bucky contorted — making his spine pop another time — bending even further backwards on his chair to look behind him and saw Sam Wilson, upside down.

“Ack!” Bucky scrambled, throwing his limbs every which way until he ended up twisted around to be able to look at Sam properly. Sam was here!

Sam Wilson!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

“Ah!” _Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!_

Sam smiled sheepishly, seemingly unperturbed by Bucky’s inability to communicate. “Sorry if I surprised you.”

“No! Nono! You’re great! Sorry no. It’s great!” Bucky waved his hands around. “I mean you’re great too, but that’s neither here nor there, because we’re all great, it’s great.”

Oh dear, Bucky still was not over this flailing dumbass stage, was he? Then again Steve Rogers might have become more human — and thus even sexier — ever since that moment they had shared while repairing books, but Sam Wilson remained the mysterious, nice, super beautiful defensive positioner sport guy who always sent Bucky into cardiac arrest. He was still inhumanly unattainable, and thus, could send Bucky’s brain all out of whack in the blink of an eye.

“That’s… cool?” Sam answered, like a question, which was to be expected after what Bucky had spouted. Sam pointed at the scattered stacks of papers. “You studying?”

“Ugh, yes,” Bucky answered and slapped his hand on his six hundred pages long _Handbook of Metals_. “It’s interesting but I’ve been at it for **ages**.”

Sam Wilson smiled, “Yeah, it can be a pain, right?” Then he fidgeted.

He fidgeted.

Bucky looked at him fiddling with the hem of his tight tshirt and had a sudden, glorious, realisation.

He realised that Sam Wilson might just be cut from the same cloth as Steve Rogers. An extraordinarily wholesome and handsome college sophomore, living in a very simple world, but with one or two insecurities about his intelligence brought on by one too many situations where he might have been dismissed by people for being dumb.

Talk about himbo epiphanies.

Bucky didn’t know Sam, but he could infer all that and he could at least do something about it. Show him the same respect he’d had for Steve.

“Wanna sit?” He asked.

Sam looked elated and stopped fiddling with his shirt to go sit right beside Bucky. He pinched an exercise sheet and squinted at it. “Looks complicated.”

Bucky shrugged. “It was, at the beginning, but you know, practice makes perfect? Also once you learn how to demonstrate the formula, everything kind of makes sense, you know?”

“Sure.” Sam looked like he didn’t know but would stalwartly defend Bucky’s right to have things make sense.

So sweet. Bucky picked up his pencil to start on another sheet of notes, but he could feel his wrist being all sore. “Ugh. Ouchie.” He grasped it with his right hand.

“Hurts?” Sam asked. “You’re left-handed?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I wrote a fucking lot cause I had to take most of my notes by hand today because my laptop is on the fritz… Usually I’d just do the practice sheets by hand but like… ugh.”

“Hmm. Want me to take a look?”

Bucky looked inquiringly at Sam but held his left hand out to him.

“I wanna be a physiotherapist when I graduate. Sometimes some subtle movements and basic massages can help a lot with everyday soreness and pain, you know?”

Bucky genuinely wanted to say something, answer Sam, tell something very clever that would show both his smarts and emphasise how great he found Sam’s career choice, but Sam chose that moment to grab his hand and push his fingers against the soft skin of the inside of wrist, so Bucky ascended to another plane of existence and lost the ability to even.

“See there are specific pains related to being left-handed, because you navigate a world that’s made for right-handed people, and also we write from left to right so you must have your wrist kind of twisted, that’s why it can hurt, or at least, it’ll hurt differently than righties.”

Bucky gurgled something that might have been a yes or his dying breath.

Then Sam pushed both thumbs into Bucky’s wrist.

Which did…

Let’s all be clear here, Bucky was:

  1. Only human
  2. Learning to be an engineer, not a… massagee (Sam here being a massager)
  3. Doing his best



All this combined meant that at the first push and as a delicious warmth began to suffuse his wrist, he gritted his teeth, but when Sam pushed again, making a circle and counter-circle motion with both his thumbs, Bucky moaned.

He moaned _loudly_.

 _In the library_.

Madam Librarian, as Steve called her, descended onto both of them like a plague of locust and they got thrown on their asses in less time it took to say “ohmmmhmmmm Sam, that’s **good**.”

Sam was giggling like crazy while Bucky, half mortified, half laughing his ass off, clumsily zipped his book bag. The giggling devolved into snorts and huffed laughs and then Bucky made the mistake of looking into Sam’s eyes and he lost track of what was going on.

“Bucky?”

Oh god so beautiful oh wow oh “Sam?” oh dear, wowow…

“Wanna get ice cream?”

“Wanna… what?” Bucky blinked, rewound his internal tape, analysed the situation and then blurted quickly “Yes! Ice cream! Yes, perfect, great, please.”

Sam smiled brightly. “Let’s go then.”

* * *

The walk to the ice cream parlour ended up being way less awkward compared to that time Sam had escorted him to Mechatronics. Still, Bucky felt just as dazzled and had several instances of no-thoughts/head-empty, especially when Sam turned his gorgeousness superpowers on. They nevertheless managed to discuss the whole physiotherapist thing, share some more about their majors, but also about their passions — Bucky loved to build up models and paint warhammer figurines, while Sam loved sports and was trying to grow a cactus, its continued good health over three months being his pride and joy.

The sunny weather and good discussion were so enjoyable, Bucky didn’t see time pass, and they were already choosing their ice creams.

While Bucky hemmed and hawed and dithered forever over stracciatella or dulce de leche — maybe he should just buy a third scoop and take both — he heard Sam rattle of a huge list with a whole lot of terms he’d never thought he’d hear from Sam. Like “non-fat dairyless something scoop” and “sugar free lemon thingamajiggy” and “vegan something or other crack waffle something” Bucky wasn’t really sure, because he was having a dulce de dilemma.

Sam found them a booth in the corner, next to the window — gosh, a seat with a view, wow — and once seated, Bucky immediately felt a bit self-conscious about his three scoops with added chantilly and caramel cracky things and all that jazz, while Sam…

Well maybe this was Sam’s favourite or something? Maybe he liked… this pale pseudo-vanilla thing? Looked a bit yellow and it had none of those darker vanilla bits. And a lemon sorbet. Translucent lemon sorbet. At least he had one of those cracker-like fuckwaffle things. Although it did look more brittle than usual when Sam bit into it, and the thing crumbled into dusty bits all over his two scoops.

“Uhmmm…” Bucky took a spoonful of chantilly before speaking, trying to gather his wits so he could ask politely why Sam’s ice cream was so sad. “Why is your ice cream so sad?”

Damnit.

Fuck you, brain.

Luckily, Sam wasn’t offended at all, and guffawed loudly in the crowded parlour before he answered, “I’m on a diet, Bucky.”

Bucky eyed his biceps — not the thigh biceps, the arm biceps —, and his shoulders, and his chest — and then he had to take a mental break, lest he had a mental breakdown — “You want to… lose weight?”

Sam snorted and licked his spoon — this was an attack, Bucky should call a lawyer —, “I’m not right now, nowadays the dietician is trying to stabilise me, but depending on how advanced we are in the season I can have a diet to gain weight, lose fat, stabilise, high energy shit, whatever’s needed.”

“Oh.” Bucky glanced down at his stracciatella-dulce de leche-pretzel and brownie scoops, “Is it okay if I eat mine like… right in front of your salad?”

“Salad.” Sam chuckled. He smiled lopsidedly, “well I can’t eat it, but I’d be sad to see it go to waste.” Then he grinned wider. “And you looked so pumped when you got it, I wanna see you enjoy it!”

How come uwu was an internet thing but Bucky still felt the sentiment here in real life?

“How come your diet’s so harsh though?” He asked between two spoonfuls of vanilla-pretzel-brownie bits.

“Eh. That’s life. I mean, I’m playing sports that are pretty high stakes, a sport that I love. So I’m making some sacrifices for it: waking up early, a loaded timetable, the risk of injury, all of that. It’s just balanced out by the pleasure I get from playing the game, and playing it beside Steve, that’s also something that I count.” Sam shrugged his big shoulders as he scooped up the melting lemon sorbet. “I mean, everything worth having deserves a little sacrifice you know? That’s also what gives them some worth. I’m not saying basic stuff, though, cause I don’t know, water and, uh, shelter, and also food, that should be free, dude. Damn I don’t want people to struggle for food and home, but you know hard shit being hard is cool, and trying to surpass myself, that means I give something and the thing I like gives me something in return.”

Bucky gaped, this felt like yesterday with Steve at the library, looking at a beautiful himbo-flower blooming right in front of him, discovering they truly were just as beautiful inside than out.

“That’s… such a meaningful outlook on necessary effort. I like it.”

“Yeah?” Sam’s smile spread into a proud smirk. “I learned all that when I watched Fullmetal Alchemist. I wanted to get cultured, it’s in japanese!”

Oh dear lord, much beautiful, such himbo.

Wow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam, during that whole chapter:

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update this fic on... no schedule whatsoever, seriously, this fic is my angst free hillside I will sing and dance on whenever I want to! I have already written most of what will be chapter 2 and have absolutely plans to smush those sweet boys together in a pile of hot and cute boys.
> 
> Eventual smut ahead, but not today.
> 
> Come see me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AlpacaKittens) for absolute randomness, and also fandom. Also... stuff <3 :D


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